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We have a full surgery this morning: three for release, two for a week’s temporary release and eleven with imagined or real illnesses. Dr Allwood, a thorough and conscientious man, always takes his time. In fact, after forty minutes, one of the inmates in the waiting room complains about how long he’s taking. Gail leaps out of the surgery and tells the prisoner that her husband visited his GP last week and had to sit around for three hours, and that was after having to wait a week before he could make an appointment. The inmate snarls.
Chris, a lifer (murdered his wife), rolls up his sleeve and shows me a faded scar on the inside of his arm. ‘I did that,’ he says, thrusting it under the gaze of the complaining prisoner, who looks surprised. ‘Yeah,’ he continues, ‘stabbed in the middle of the night by my pad-mate, wasn’t I, and when I pressed the emergency button no screws came to help me because I was on the top floor.’ Chris now has the full attention of the rest of the surgery. ‘No doctor at Gartree to come to my aid, so I sewed it up myself.’ I look at his faded scar in disbelief, but Gail nods to confirm she’s seen many examples of amateur stitching over the years.
‘Just a needle and thread was all I needed,’ he adds.
10.40 am
Mr Berlyn marches into the hospital and says he needs an urgent word with me. We go into the ward. He has been in touch with Mr Le Sage at HMP Stocken about my accompanying him when he gives his talk to schools on the problems of young people becoming involved in drugs and ending up in prison. The good news is that Mr Le Sage is looking for a new prisoner to assist him, and has agreed to travel up to NSC next Monday to talk about the possibility of my working alongside him. This is the best news I’ve had since being appointed hospital orderly.
Escaping the confines of NSC, visiting schools and feeling I’m doing something worthwhile must be the next step on this particular journey. I thank Mr Berlyn and once again have something to look forward to. Next Monday.
3.00 pm
Only two new inductees today because the prison is full. When I check my board, I note one of them is called Blackburn. We already have a Blackburn, I tell the young lad sitting in front of me.
‘Yeah, that’s my dad,’ he says. ‘He was my co-defendant.’ I smell a story. ‘You’ll never believe what we’re in for, Jeff,’ he adds. I remain silent. ‘We were caught stealing Lion Bars, and got three and a half years.’
‘That sounds a bit rough,’ I venture foolishly.
‘Yeah, well, I have to admit, Jeff, it was forty-six tons of ’em with a street value of nearly two hundred grand.’
‘But how do you fence chocolate bars?’
He laughs. We already had a buyer.’
‘At what price?’
‘Forty grand.’
‘So how did you get caught?’
‘One of the night watchmen who was part of our team grassed us up, didn’t he.’
‘Why?’
‘He was up for a minor charge of burglary and did a deal with the scum.’
‘Did he get off?’
‘Yeah, they dropped the charge, didn’t they, but nicked him for somethin’ else a couple of months later and then they banged him up in the Scrubs … with my father.’
4.07 pm
Mr Hocking drops in to say that he’s pleased I might be going out to assist a prison officer with his drugs talk. He’s already informed the governor that I am not considered a security risk. He’s only been with me a couple of minutes when his radio intercom asks him to report back to the security office immediately.
‘We’ve had another one,’ are the only words I clearly hear. I look suitably inquisitive.
‘We’ve got a serial informer,’ he explains, ‘he writes every day telling us who the drug dealers are and where we’ll find the next drop. So far he’s been on the button every time.’
‘Do you know who the informer is?’ I ask.
‘No idea, don’t want to know,’ he replies. ‘All I can tell you is that the handwriting is the same every time.’
DAY 210
WEDNESDAY 13 FEBRUARY 2002
5.43 am
